Arrow: Original Sin
by not for granted
Summary: Takes place after Season 2 finale, before major events of Season 3... Just as Oliver Queen and Team Arrow seem to have made some headway in saving Starling City, a new chapter of lethal vigilantes descend on the Glades. As the Arrow fights for the soul of his city, the secret origin of Sara Lance's streetwise friend 'Sin' is revealed.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first time writing in the "Arrow" fandom. I hope that it is well received, please review.**

**It takes place shortly after Season Two's finale, so expect to see a lot of clean-up. Anyone who can guess the comic-book identities of characters who show up will get a prize!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Arrow" or "DC Comics".**

* * *

The best place to run when you didn't want cops to follow you was a back-alley in the Glades. Even the rookies wearing the blue had heard the stories of gangbangers who wanted to make a name for themselves setting up ambushes. A dead-end, easy collar for a perp who 'forgot' about a brick wall was turned into a slaughter when two or three of his crew on the fire-escape or behind a dumpster open fired down or from behind with automatics.

It was starting to occur to this particular criminal, an experienced mugger and burglar, that the people chasing him weren't police at all.

Police didn't fire arrows at you. The vigilante freak in the hood did, but he worked alone. He was suppose to work alone.

He was suppose to go after the big criminal masterminds and terrorists for that matter, not after small-time crooks.

This wasn't the police, this wasn't the vigilante. He didn't know what these people were supposed to be. Nobody ever chased him this far for this long.

At least, no one chased him this far and this long without saying anything.

Not a single word.

Not 'stop'.

Not 'freeze'.

Not a single curse or demand, just silence and running.

He wasn't smart, he never had been. He survived this long in the Glades because instinct and speed, preying off the inattentive and the weaker people.

And now he instinctively knew that they weren't calling out, they weren't calling attention to themselves, because they didn't plan on arresting him or hurting him.

"It doesn't make any sense... come on, _come on! You guys can't be this crazy!?" _He was out of breath, his ankle had rolled after a bad stumble, he was nearly laughing from the absurdity of it all. He was a nobody, and these guys treated him like Public Enemy Number One.

A nobody dying in the Glades meant nothing, but like this? No, this was a message. No one wanted be a 'message' to the rest of the city.

"Come on, please-!"

But they payed no heed, and there was an explosion of pain in his leg. And the smell of kerosene-

"No no _please NO!" _

**ARROW****  
Original Sin**

The police arrived about twenty to thirty minutes too late.

It was a new record for the Glades.

It didn't even start as a murder call, it was a complaint about the smell. The _Goddamn_ smell. Only one patrol car was sent out to investigate, though of course they had some trepidation about it. That part of the city, mysterious smells that was driving the rodents away, that was bad enough to make the normally apathetic Glades residents queasy? Had to be bad news.

No one expected it to be bad enough that the new Captain had to be phoned in. Least of all said Captain. But when called, Captain Lance answered.

"What've we got?" He demanded brusquely. One hand out, one beat-cop delivered it a paper cup filled near the brim with life-saving coffee. He had been trying to quit, or at least cut back, but it was no use. Caffeine was too good a vice to shake even with a heart-condition, and his line of work practically made it a necessity.

"Body sir," one of the on-site officers needlessly confirmed, looking queasy. Must be a newbie. Poor kid probably was a transfer. "Looks like a crispy-fritter... Jesus..."

Captain Lance grimaced. Definitely new, and with that accent? He had this kid pegged as a Central City, maybe even as far as Metropolis transfer. Why anyone would willingly transfer from Metropolis or Central, he wouldn't be able to guess. Probably would look at the kid's record later. "Keep it together." Cpt. Quentin Lance sipped his coffee. "Any idea who the latest casualty might be?"

"No sir, we found three wallets on him though."

"Only three huh? Must have been a slow night for an enterprising young snatcher."

"Do you suppose it was enough to get him killed sir?"

"What do you think?"

"... I don't think so sir, it was far too..."

"It's overkill, even for this city, even for the glades."

"We did find an arrow in his leg sir."

That was not good. "And?"

"Could it be the Hood sir? The vigilante-?"

"No," Quentin grimaced. He said that too quick, now they were all staring at him like a bunch of chumps. "It's not his MO, he doesn't kill anymore."

"Sir-?"

"-and even if he did, the fire is a new touch. Doesn't fit any of his old patterns," he thought about that. "Not at all... where's the arrow?"

"In his leg sir... we think it must have broken off, when he tried to run. Otherwise it's too short-"

"-it's in him."

"I... yes, we know sir, it's-"

"No no kid, listen," Quentin corrected sharply, but gently. Since the Earthquake and the masked riots, they needed all the help they could get, and that included fresh-faces from Metropolis or whatever. Wouldn't do to get this kid spooked. "Not even a track-star could get to moving with an arrow right in the thigh like that, believe me. That's a crippler shot if I've ever come across one. No way it broke off or anything either... whole shaft, that's what we're looking at here, the bit sticking out that's the... feather things-"

"Fletching sir-"

"-right right, whatever... crossbow. Someone shot this sad sack down with a crossbow. Great, just what we all need..."

He shook his head, and turned to where the technicians were snapping pictures of recent graffiti on the wall of the alleyway. "That," Quentin remarked, slowly. "Also ain't part of the Arrow's MO. What is that, blood?"

"We checked sir, it's just paint. You recognize the-?"

"-not a gang sign I've heard of, and I've heard of them all, rookie. Looks like they wanted to make a Celtic cross, you know, circle around the... places there." He considered the sign, the cross that had a careful half-circle inside, trying to make sense of it. "Nope... nothing."

"Sir?"

"This is new. My bet, they were trying to finish up some crackpot religious message, and then they got spooked when they heard sirens, scattered out of here like speed-freak roaches." Steadily he considered the walls, the fire-escapes, the dirty windows up top at the second story, the overstuffed gutters by the roof. "About five to six years ago, we had a trouble-spot just like this. Lowlives would lure a cop in and he'd have buddies on the roof or on the escape open-fire. Goddamn bloodbath. I'll check the roof, I want analysis on that paint, look through anything that might clue us in on why this guy got picked to be made a sizzler, and trace the make of that crossbow arrow."

"Bolt, sir. It's called a bolt if it's from a crossbow."

"Crosses, crossbows, bolts, and a guy on fire, this is a lovely evening... your name kid?"

"Fletcher sir."

"Fletcher who knows about arrows." Quentin snorted. "You look into the bolt. Got it?"

"Yes sir. Captain sir." Officer Fletcher headed off, the rest of the team did likewise, securing the area or categorizing every detail of the scene.

Which left Quentin Lance able to surreptitiously dump the remains of his coffee cup and make the trek up stairwell onto the roof. For a moment, he wasn't sure that the Arrow would show, and maybe he was giving the hooded vigilante too much credit-

"_-this murder involved an arrow._"

Quentin flinched, clutched his chest. "Jesus H. _Christ_-!"

_"-me and my people were not involved."_ That voice modulator was still freaky, but Quentin figured he should be getting used to being surprised by the guy dressed like Robin Hood went biker-chic.

"Didn't figure you did, but _for god's sake_ you gave me a freakin' heart-attack..." Damn, that was a poor choice of words. He checked his pocket for the pills, just to make sure they were there, focused on his breathing, getting it under control.

_"Last thing I would want... city needs good cops more than ever." _Hard to tell with that hood, but the guy looked almost sorry about something.

"Yeah, well, still doesn't seem like enough sometimes. Brought in a bunch of new people, but I don't know if half of them can make the cut. Bunch of fresh-faces straight out of campus police from their colleges, kids really."

_"And they have... reservations about my activities." _

"Yeah, but any cop would," Quentin shrugged. "I know I sure did, I'll straighten things out with the new people. The arrow's shaky evidence as it is, looked like a cross-bolt. And found graffiti, looked like a half-finished Cross. Religious nuts aren't really the latest flavor of Starling City, especially the Glades."

_"I'll look into it." _

"Don't know what did it in for these people... but the word is that there's no resurrections in the Glades, that it's God's freakin' blind-spot. Way things have been happening recently? I'm starting to take that pretty serious..."

The Arrow wasn't there behind him though when he turned around. Quentin looked around hastily, called out, "Hey! HEY!"

Just as suddenly, the green-hooded roof-hopper was back, ducking out from behind a ledge. _"What is it Captain? I can't afford to waste time." _

"Well, then you better listen up: not a whole lota Churches left in the Glades, but there is one. I got an unmarked patrol-car keeping an eye on it, but I can pull it off tonight if you don't want to avoid anything unpleasant. That sound good to you? You still wanna be smart about this?"

The Arrow looked annoyed, from what Quentin could tell from what was peaking out of that forest-green hood, and a little embarrassed. Good. So he was human afterall. It helped to have these little reminders. _"That would be appreciated."_

"I thought so too, ya'know?" Shaking his head, Quentin Lance marched back down the stairs, going down back to the crime-scene to close off this building. "And don't do that, just disappear in the middle of a conversation like that. Who does that? Nobody does that, it's just plain rude..."

* * *

**There will be more... what is this mysterious symbol? **

**Would Quentin Lance be as helpful an ally if he knew his daughter Sara was dead?**

**And what changes are in store for Starling City, and for Team Arrow? **

**Well, find out next time. And thanks to all of you who support this first "Arrow" fanfic. Please review. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Great news, Bex Taylor-Kraus' will reprise her role as Sin on an upcoming episode!**

**Which means I need to step it up with the updates. Well, here it goes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Arrow" or "DC Comics".**

* * *

In his head, Oliver just called it 'The Safehouse', or sometimes 'The Hideout'. When he was feeling formal, it was 'The Base of Operations'.

Never 'The Arrow-Cave', that was just dumb. He had heard Felicity refer to it by that name once, and her reasoning was that 'the Arrow' didn't just have a 'Man-Cave' like an ordinary guy. He didn't have the heart to correct her then, and he never found the time for it.

Besides, the one time she did refer to it as such was especially busy, trying to trail a smuggler who happened to frequent '_Verdant_' once in a while. He'd have to talk to Thea about the door-policy when he found the time.

Then again, if he stuck his nose into Thea's business, there was plenty of risk that she might see fit to try to stick her nose into his, and only one of them was breaking the law with their extracurricular activities.

Oliver always knew she'd be the more responsible one, eventually, but it still was a shock when he sat down and thought long and hard about how differently both he and his little sister had turned out than what was expected. _'Then again, better a vigilante than can save this city than a college-dropout/playboy...' _

As always, the entrance to the basement of the club was unguarded, the new DJ was keeping people out on the floor and they never did need to bother with someone trying to steal a keg before, so his way to the Arrow-Ca... to the _Hideout _was unimpeded. Which again, was a bit of good luck. Oliver honestly didn't want to have to beat up that bouncer who caught him sneaking in through the roof, but the guy _was_ smoking and fifteen minutes over his break, so one hospital trip and paid leave seemed like a fair trade. Didn't it?

Well, Felicity seemed to think so once he promised her the guy would make a full recovery. She was very firmly in the anti-smoking camp. And Diggle was no help at all, smirking over his shoulder when he tried to explain his detour.

There were no smiles tonight though, both of them hunched over the computer monitor, looking over the pictures of the crime-scene he had sent. Talking to one another in low voices, and frowning thoughtfully, they didn't acknowledge his entrance. Considering the way Diggle's shoulder's tensed and his stance shifted though, Oliver wouldn't have wagered on being unnoticed. Whatever else Diggle was pretending to be to the outside world, the soldier's training would never leave.

Good.

"No trouble with the bouncer this time Oliver?"

"Surprisingly, no, I think he gave up smoking."

Diggle nodded sardonically. "Good, that stuff will kill you."

"More worried about crossbows. Police are already pursuing-"

"Yeah, that's a needle in a haystack." Felicity interrupted, not halting in her rapid typing. "You might not want to hear this, but you've inspired a lot of people. Which is good, so, maybe you do need to or want to hear that? I mean, that'd be good if the people you inspired weren't murderers... and now I feel horrible because you have _no _affiliation with those people. These people. And the other ones-"

"Felicity?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Do you have any leads on the tag?"

Blank confusion.

"The graffiti," Oliver clarified. "At the crime scene, I managed to send a few images before the police closed off the area."

"Oh," Felicity nodded. "Don't know why my head went to clothing tags... maybe it's laundry day? I don't know. And I'm not sure it's anything besides an ordinary Celtic cross. Associated loosely with a few offshoots of the IRA, but no way does Starling City have that much bad luck. Right?"

Oliver and Diggle exchanged a look.

"... right, I forgot." Felicity exhaled, resuming her speedy typing. "This city is, like, an Indian graveyard, pentagram, and murder-suicide away from being legitimately cursed."

"It's not that bad." Oliver assured, or objected. He wasn't sure which anymore, and he wasn't certain if the city wasn't cursed or not. It certainly wasn't helping it's case, considering the every disaster that had been brought down recently.

Diggle seemed to think the same, and was much more open about it. "Oliver, this city isn't going to win any awards."

"It's pretty bad." Felicity agreed.

"What are we talking about?" Roy called, coming down from the top of the entrance, before coming down two steps at a time. "Heard about the murder in the Glades by the old shooting-galley-"

"-No," Felicity interrupted. "We're telling Oliver this city might be cursed."

"Oh definitely." Roy nodded, all seriousness. "I think an Indian graveyard might be involved."

"No freaking way, that's what I said." Felicity absently chewed on a pen, her go-to habit for trying to remember something. She gave up halfway through. "I'll need to look that up-"

"-could we _please, **please **_focus?" Oliver snapped, peevishly. "A man was murdered. We might be dealing with a religious nut. What do we know?"

"No way," Roy scoffed. "Only one church left in the Glades. Maybe all of Starling City."

"That can't be true." But, hesitantly, Oliver turned to Diggle and Felicity. "Where do you go to church?"

"What makes you think I believe in that?" Diggle shrugged. "Never really bought into it when I was just a teen, broke my grandmother's heart. And after a few tours of the sandbox and seeing 'God-fearing' men on both sides rain Hell on civilians? Well, not sure that's changing anytime soon."

"Never had time for it myself," Roy admitted, "but I know the church. Pastor who runs it is okay, always tried to help out anyone who needed it. Just didn't seem enough, to believe in something so big and... weird because of one guy."

"Felicity?"

"Right," she scoffed. "_Church_."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Right, well um, temple? Synagogue?"

"I go." She frowned, tone defensive. "Occasionally. It's been super-busy and I've got extra-curricular activities to worry about so excuse me if I can't always make it you're not my rabbi you kno-"

"Sorry, _sorry!" _Oliver held up his hands in surrender. "Didn't mean to make a big deal about this." To Roy, he frowned, looking for a change of subject. "Where were you?"

"Got held up." Roy shrugged. "First dozed off, then there was traffic, then this new bouncer is a douche-"

"-smoker too." Felicity chimed in.

"Heard he quit?"

"Oh well that's good-"

"I'd go myself," Oliver interrupted pointedly, "but if you already know the pastor of the church, maybe it'd be better if you went."

"Charity-case instead of a sneaking vigilante?" Roy nodded. "Makes sense, sure."

A brief flash of insight told Oliver maybe that rubbed Roy the wrong way. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, it's cool." Roy nodded again, holding up his hands. "Whatever helps the case. And the Glades? They may be cursed with Indian burial ground or gypsy hexes or ghosts or whatever causes it to be a magnet for all the unbelievably bad crap that's rained down, but it's my home and I'm going to make sure it stays safe."

"You've come a long way." Oliver frowned, impressed.

"Don't let it go to my head." With an only slightly forced smile, Roy jogged up the stairs out of the Arrow Cave... _Hideout. The **Hideout**_. "Dammit Felicity..."

"What?" She looked up, hurt and alarmed. "What did I do?"

"Any leads on the sign?" Oliver quickly asked.

"Well, this is a longshot," she typed, enlarged the cross with the semi-circle around it. "But I got to thinking, what if that's not a Celtic Cross with the circle? I mean, if someone gets interrupted, you'd expect there to be like a squiggle or an accident with making the design, right?"

"He could have run out of paint?" Diggle suggested, leaning over.

"Multiple people, only one with a spray-paint?" Felicity shook her head. "Doubt that was it... they worked hard, planned this. Or, something like this..? I don't know, they wanted someone to die tonight and they wanted it to be a message. No way they wouldn't have made sure of everything. Besides, the paint isn't fading or losing any body along the edges. Full even spray."

"And that means?"

"What if it's not a cross and a circle, like the Celtic variation," Felicity steepled her fingers. "What if it's a cross with a 'C' in the middle? Or overlaid. Whichever works."

"Alright." Oliver nodded.

"Good thinking." Diggle agreed.

Then they looked at one another, and back to Felicity._ "Why?"_ They both asked together.

"'cuse me?" Felicity looked brought up short.

"What does that mean?" Oliver clarified. "Doesn't call to mind a church, a gang, or tag that I'm familiar with."

Again Felicity started worryingly chewing on her pen. "I have no idea."

"Well," Diggle sighed, crossing his arms. "Maybe Roy will have better luck. What about you?"

"I'll keep patrols," Oliver went back to reload on a new night's supply of ammunition, from small fetches in his wrist-mounted sling-bows for surprise to his main quiver of multiple specialty shots. "If there's any clues, I will find them."

"Yeah, I'm sure of that, but I mean what about your church?" Diggle raised an eyebrow. "Where did you go?"

That brought Oliver up short. "My parents weren't the most religious." That seemed a weak excuse, especially now. But it wasn't an excuse, just fact. He didn't know why he felt like he needed a special reason on the subject. But as it turned out, he did have one. "And I spent five years on an island that had a name that literally meant 'Purgatory'." He put up his hood. "I'll deal with the real thing if it's waiting. Plenty of practice..."

* * *

**And now ready for that new episode. Hope it doesn't blow everything here out of the water. **

**If it does though, I'll just relabel this as an AU. Thank you for reading, review if you've got the time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Still working, this is a rather easy fic to manage. **

**With every chapter as a separate sort of scene, it progresses faster, and I'm glad for it. Hope that those of you reading enjoy it too.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Arrow" or "DC Comics".**

* * *

Life was hard, and death only looked easy because what happened after was just guess-work. This was a lesson that was pressed hard in the minds of every citizen of Starling City who had the bad luck or bad taste to end up trying to make life work in the Glades. It was small wonder the church was empty. Most of the flock had been slaughtered or scattered, with no shepherd willing to guide or reclaim them.

But even an empty church has uses when the pastor resolutely clings to the idea that people are naturally good, and that a place of sanctuary should not have barred doors. Of course, people in the Glades did what people in the Glades did whenever someone showed them a chance to be trustworthy; they abused the hell out of the 'weakness' and soon the collection plates had gum-wrappers in them and the pews were stained from wallowing drunks. Twice a chalice had been stolen, and a pantry for the homeless had been cleared out in the night by a bold, solitary, and hungry vagrant who ate his fill and sold the aluminum cans for dimes and nickels. When it wasn't enough to buy beer, the rest were emptied and the cans sold, and eventually fifteen-to-thirty empty cans that held food instead were traded for six-cans of beer that could tasted like urine.

Starling City had the type of corruption that left the weak and the cheated to drip down into a cesspit like the Glades, and the Glades were the type of place where a girl who called herself Sin could sleep in the front pew of a Church to ward off the cold (she ignored some stains on the chipped varnished wood). Still, her dreams were always bad. All the crosses, chalices, and all the other icons of faith and love and forgiveness (no such thing) couldn't help that.

It started when she was just a girl with longer hair.

_She learned the first nights were the worst. _

_It didn't get better though, she just got used to it. Numb, and accustomed to the streets and all their disappointments._

_It was a little like freezing to death, or what she imagined freezing to death would feel like. So far she had avoided that fate, but her luck wouldn't last forever._

_Luck? That wasn't the word for it. She had gotten lucky, but that made it sound like she was Aladdin staying one friggin' jump ahead of... stuff._

_No, she just was lucky that people were half-decent or halfheartedly-decent, whatever difference that really made. For her, it meant some spare change, it meant sleeping in a lobby instead of on a bench, or it meant directions to a shelter. She was reluctant to visit one of those though, at least, she hadn't dropped enough pride to go to one of those places. She had dropped plenty of pounds and baby-fat though, and it might be that she got hungry enough to accept that bitter charity._

_Besides, there were worse, more humiliating places she could turn to that she pointedly refused; pimps, drugs, gangs, 'clubs' that were basically finishing school for hookers, none of those were an option. _

_And neither was calling back home. _

_But twice a week (made three times now, with this latest call) she used some of her precious change (picked up or tossed in a cup by passing strangers, or made selling recyclables she dug through the trash to find) to make a call at what had to be the oldest, dirtiest payphone she had ever seen._

_She was pretty sure someone was murdered in it too, though that was just guesswork by some of the holes in the glass. _

_Still, she always paid the .85 cents to call home, she always waited until there was someone who picked up (it was the same every time) and she always hung up before answering. Sometimes, walking home in the dark after one of those failed attempts to reconnect, she'd have wished that she'd tried harder._

_But that was only in the night. During daytime she knew better._

_Right now though? Tonight? She was about to learn just the two lessons that she'd carry with her for the rest of her life. _

_The first one? Long hair got grabbable, and late-night muggers (or worse) would take advantage of that._

_By the time her instincts took over, and she started to punch, kick backwards, stomp and scream, her attacker had already got a handful of hair and was shaking her like she was a dog. Or like he was a dog and she was a rope-toy that he wanted to break in. Some time went (maybe half a minute, felt longer) before she managed to get a fistful of **his** greasy hair, and as she pulled it out by the roots while screaming a fit, he let her go only to kick the back of her legs sharply._

_"Gerroffmeyoufickingsonofabitach'llbreakyourdickoffandmakeyoucokeonitifyoudon'toffOFF GET OFF OF ME!"_

_Definite strung-out waste of space, taller than she was though, lanky arms affording him some reach that could cause some issue. He smelled badly, and cursed almost as badly as she did through mush-mouth of bad teeth, swollen gums and split lip. The split lip was her work, she felt proud of it._

_"I don't have any money you sicko! So step the hell back and leave me alone!"_

_"Maybe I don't want chump-change, bitch." He snarled back, spitting twice. The second time he got enough blood and spittle to spray over her shoes. _

_She didn't know it, but in few months, and a woman in black would kick punks like this to the curb for calling her a 'bitch'. Not tonight though, and when he pulled a knife, she shut her eyes in fear, not even considering what the future might hold. Her future looked plenty bleak and short right now, no use wishing for different._

_There was no leather-clad rescuer tonight._

_She'd have to make due with a girl her size who was wearing a ratty hoodie and kicking copious amount of junkie-ass to the curb with kung-fu moves._

_That wasn't expected. _

_A moment to take in the newcomer, her rescuer; Asian girl, her age, maybe younger? Looked like she was swimming in those clothes too. Small, wiry, one of her bruised shoulders peeking out from where the hoodie was hanging off of her. She didn't look like she minded blood on her sneakers, which was pretty ballsy since no telling where that creep had been before. He had run off crying like a wuss, and now kung-fu girl was left staring. There was faded lettering on the hand-me-down, maybe rescued from trash-bin, hoodie. Maybe it said 'Cury' once, now it was hard to make out. 'Carly'? Maybe 'Sandy'? No, definitely started with a 'C'..._

_"...that was wicked awesome." _

_The new girl (Candy? Carol? Catty?) didn't respond, just stared blankly. She definitely looked younger. And then she took off._

_"Hey. HEY!" Alright, she may be a weirdo, but she had moves; stuff like that could come in handy. "Hey, er... Cindy? Cin! Wait up, would ya? Hey-"_

"-hey there."

Big hand, insistent but gentle, shook her awake. Enough experience on the streets since back then made her jump, and with honed reflexes she was out of the pew, clutching her leather jacket tighter about her torso.

Part of this was because she couldn't bring herself trust anyone since Sarah had went away without saying so much as 'toodles', even if it was a priest; another part of it was to hide the chalice she pinched off the alter, figuring it might be worth something somewhere.

She only felt moderate amount of guilt at that, which still felt like a big deal after going so long surviving without much further thought as to what imaginary friend in the sky would think of what she did.

"I'm sorry," the pastor started, big guy as he was looking shy and regretful, "I can't let you sleep in here."

"What if I call for sanctuary?" She shrugged. "Like in the movies?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Worth a shot." She muttered, quickly getting out.

Church wasn't a great place for a girl who had been calling herself 'Sin' to hide anyway. 

* * *

**What a twist!**

**There's a couple canon comic ties that make this fun, I hope anyone reading might pick up on it.**

**I hope you're enjoying the story, please review! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Been a while since I updated this.**

**Well, I hope that I haven't gotten too rusty. Thank you everyone who reviewed, it really did help. A big problem I had was I didn't want to spoil the reveal of 'Sin' and her real name, so had to work out a way to dance around the subject for flashbacks to work. In a TV medium, it wouldn't be a problem because we wouldn't have to deal with internal dialogue, but for the fic it posed a bigger problem.**

**So be patient with these next few updates, this style isn't one I'm overly fond or familiar with but is necessary. And again, thank you everyone who waited.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Arrow" or it's characters.**

* * *

_This crazy girl could run. _

_Like, crazy fast for a crazy girl... well, that made sense. Still, how did someone so short get around so fast with such stubby little legs? _

'Well, not like you're going to be MVP of any basketball team,' _she thought, glaring down at the holes in her skinny-jeans. And crap, her new friend/bodyguard was getting away and all she had to go on was a name on a sweatshirt that looked like a third-place hand-me-down. _

Well? Run like hell, pump those stubby legs.

_"Hey! Hey Cindy, wait up!"_

_But the girl didn't wait up, and the chase started all over again, going into the deeper heart of the Glades, as far in as a person could go (why would they want to?) from the docks at a run. She was Asian, some kinda Asian that was hard to pin down, maybe mixed-race, so maybe she was a stowaway of some kind? Maybe she ran with the Triads who were pushing for more territory? Like a weird child-soldier kinda deal. _

_Hopefully not though, that'd be... freaky and scary, scarier than even what she was used to. Not that she wasn't a tough girl, but trained preteen killer ninjas? That was a bit too much, and this city was already getting pretty weird._

(naturally her weirdness tolerance would get built up by the time she rolled with a leather-clad superheroine, but that came later)

_The little stone-eyed hopefully not ninja looked her over warily, sitting on the edge of a fire-escape she had scaled with a couple of free-runner gymnast moves that looked painfully complicated. A little bit like a cat that had been kicked before, but not enough that it came to expect it out of hand. _

_"So um, what's your name? Your real name? Not Cindy, right?" _

_Silence. Maybe the girl was a mute. Maybe some sign-language? If any could be remembered... dang it._

_"Alright, if it's not Cindy..."_

_Blank, bored stare._

_"... Becky?"_

_A surprised blink, and she shook her head._

_"Alright, how about... Trudy?"_

_Glare._

_"Okay okay, I'm trying here, let's have some give and take, alright?"_

_Glare reverted back to staring blankly._

_"... Elizabeth?"_

_Now she actually rolled her eyes._

_"Okay, am I far off or am I getting close? You can give me that much, right?"_

_Ninja girl just shrugged. _

_"... does it start with 'a'?"_

_Head-shake._

_"Does it start with B?" _

_She shook her head again. _

_"But not C? Alright, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, Stop me when I'm at the right one?"_

_Still nothing. _

_"... T? U, V, W... XYZ? Really?" _

_Sigh. _

_"So no name. Fine, you don't have to tell me-"_

_Head nodded once._

_"... wait, seriously? You don't have a name?"_

_Nod. _

_"Dayum... okay, um... well I'll just call you Cindy?"_

_Arms folded. She practically pouted. _

_"Hey, it's on the sweater."_

_No reaction there. _

_"You can't read, can you? Okay, um. So you don't have a name and you weren't taught how to read but... BUT someone taught you karate?"_

_A slow, slightly embarrassed nod. _

_"People are jerks. I knew it, like some child-soldier thing for what, Yakuza right?"_

_The not-Cindy-ninja waved her hand in a 'so-so' gesture. _

_"Not sure how I'm supposed to react to that. Alright, well starting now I'll give you a name."_

_Eyebrow raised. _

_"No seriously, least I can do. You saved me, I bequeath on you a name." _

_Blink. _

_"I don't know why I used a word like 'bequeath'. That was weird, sorry. Alright new name, new name... you like a name beginning with A?"_

_Head-shake._

_"B? How about B?"_

_Head-shake again, a bit more intensely. _

_"Not C though?"_

_A pause, a long one too, and she shrugs. _

_"Come on, this is important." _

_Shorter pause, and she nods, definite. _

_"Alright! Now we're getting somewhere. Okay, how about Candy?" _

_Knuckles cracked. _

_"I was kidding **kidding! **Alright alright, sheesh... how about Cynthia?"_

_Pause, considering, head-shake. _

_"Catherine?" _

_Head-shake._

_"Caroline? Oh, Coraline?"_

_Pause, head-shake, twice. _

_"... Cassandra?"_

_And this was the longest pause yet. And then she smile for the first time and it was perfect. _

_"Alright! Cassie-"_

_Glare._

_"-Cassandra! Well I'm... um, well I don't really... you can call me Cindy, how about that?"_

_Head-cock to the side in confusion. _

_"Look it's just a personal... I lived on the streets alone and I don't really... you know what? I don't like my name very much, how about that?" _

_Cassandra folded her arms. _

_"Yeah, I don't like Cindy either. Alright, how about... Cin? Cinder? Cin... Sin?" _

_Eyebrow raised. _

_"What? I like it. Sin."_

_It took a bit, and she frowned considering it, but eventually the younger girl (Cassandra) grinned and it was perfect again. _

_For a brief moment for them both, Cassandra and Sin shared perfect happiness knowing who they were for a change._

_Wow that seemed a long time ago._

And it wasn't.

It was just after her uncle, before the fights and the things that couldn't be taken back, and her mom's funeral. It was before Sara dressed like a dominatrix angel kicking butt and saying with authority "no woman should suffer at the hands of men". It was way before Sara disappeared. No one would tell her where Sara went. This city was going to Hell and chances were she'd get dragged down with the rest of the sorry sons of bitches. Dragged straight down to the Devil and his pitchfork covered in like... rust and sinner feces.

Oh gross...

But before any of that, Sin would get enough food to eat and worry about repentance later.

"I'll give you fifteen bucks." The greasy pawnshop owner shrugged, dismissing her haul of wallets and rings and one out-of-date flip-phone.

Okay, maybe she'd get enough to eat for tonight and then what? "You mean fifty."

"Ha. You wish," the jerk snorted. "Fifteen or you can peddle your crap somewhere else. Maybe to someone who asks a lot of questions."

"These are real leather, and that phone's practically mint condition! And look at all that shine? You could... pass that off as diamond or something, to someone. I mean I, I could get more for all this on eBay!" Sin protested, digging through her pack for something else, something that might get a proper price that'll get her enough to spend the night somewhere other than a shelter. No one trusted shelters anymore, people being abducted for experiments on top of all the other things that could go bad just gave the places a bad rep. And going to sleep in that church now was just not on the table, no way.

The pawnshop greaseball didn't like the look she had rifling through a bag though, his beady little eyes narrowing suspiciously and his hand on the handle of a Louisville slugger he kept under the table. "You don't like my business, go to digital for all I care, just get the hell out-"

"What about this?" Sin slammed the chalice on the table. It glinted in the light and cast reflections of gilt crosses on the walls and glassware.

"Well what did you do? This someone's idea of extra Christian charity?" Still the bucket of asphalt-spit and skid-marks was looking the chalice over with renewed interest. He didn't ask where things came from, never had, wasn't going to expect answers now.

"Fifty bucks? I'm going to say a hundred now." Sin folded her arms, glaring. "Slap me a Benjamin now or no deal."

"Fifty bucks. No deal."

"Seventy."

"... Seventy five."

"Done." Grease-ball counted up crumbled bills from the register and handed them out. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Smell you later," Sin predicted, wrinkling her nose as she did her very best not to avoid touching sausage-sized and sausage-greasy fingers. The money was more than she was expecting but still felt like she settled for cheap. Probably had, if she was superstitious to believe maybe her soul was forfeited or something like that.

Maybe not though, but it did mark her for death.

She just didn't know it yet. How could she?

No one noticed the shadow following her outside the pawnshop after all.

* * *

**It's been a while, but updated this. Aiming to finish it too. **

**"Arrow" sure has taking twists and turns, and I guess they won't bother too much with Sin now that her actress is on MTV's "Scream", doing great btw. **

**Thank you everyone who reviewed and/or followed this story, I promise I will see it done. **


End file.
